Who Is Your Neighbor?

 #OldManInTheMolue | #dk

He walked with the gait of a lady. Seemed lost—walking slowly, even as the rest of humanity rushed past him toward their train.

Tall—about six-foot-two.

Slender.

Handsome face.

There was something about him—something unsure, almost fragile.

He seemed to lack confidence, hugging his pink coat as though it were a shield.

He wore a grey tracksuit, and I remember—he wore slippers….

What caught my eye wasn’t just his walk—soft, almost feminine—but his hair.

Or rather, what passed for hair.

Beneath the white wool cap he wore, I could see a strand of blonde attachment.

This was a Black man.

I don’t mean one of those with naturally light hair, or bleached locks.

No—this was white-girl blonde, long and delicate. And he seemed to have tried to conceal it; barely a strand was visible.

Nothing about him was threatening.

Quite the opposite—he looked like he needed a hug.

He looked lost.

His Reality

This was his reality.

Perhaps being vulnerable was his thing.

Perhaps he had outgrown the closet.

And perhaps—like a plant in a box growing toward the peephole (remember your Class Three biology?)—this expression of himself wasn’t a deliberate choice.

Certainly not an attempt to provoke the sensibilities of anyone, religious or otherwise.

Maybe it was simply the only way he could breathe.

Of course, some odious—sorry, typo—some odd folks will quote the Bible and start talking about Sodom and Gomorrah.

When all I’m really saying is:

“Is this the sort of person the right-wing lunatics want me to hate?

What has he done?

If he has offended God, let God hate him…”

My job?

My job is to love him.

Who’s My Neighbor?

Who’s my neighbor?

You tell me.

Jesus reduced the Ten Commandments to just two:

1️⃣ Love God with all your heart.

2️⃣ Love your neighbor as yourself.

Who’s my neighbor?

You tell me.

Many don’t realize that the Parable of the Good Samaritan came immediately after this commandment.

That parable was an answer to a question posed to Jesus—by a theologian.

A Pharisee.

“But who is my neighbor?” the Pharisee asked.

The Good Samaritan Revisited

Dear friends, if any of you can prove that the Samaritan and the man beaten by the roadside were literal neighbors, please let me know.

The Samaritan was a merchant—on his way to buy or sell.

He was minding his business, yet he saw a man stripped, beaten, and left for dead.

He stopped everything he was doing.

He treated the man’s wounds—poured wine (the disinfectant of his day, like iodine), rubbed oil, and bound them up.

Those were probably goods he had bought to sell.

Then he abandoned his plans, took the man to an inn, paid for his room—and even pledged to return to settle any extra cost.

If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

Back to the Man in the Grey Tracksuit

So back to the young man in the grey tracksuit and the strand of blonde hair.

He is the kind of person the right-wing mob wants me to hate.

People like him—lost, broken, yet still trying to live one day at a time without self-loathing—are the ones Christ commands us to love.

They are searching for love that could restore them to full fellowship with God.

Yet they’ve become the villains in countless sermons, the scapegoats for politicians and preachers alike.

This young man represents everything the world fears—when in fact, he should represent everything the Church has forgotten:

The neighbor we were commanded to love…..

Yes!
He walked with the gait of a lady...
Looking fragile,
Lost
Hugging his pink coat
As though it were armor.

Nothing about him was threatening.
Nothing hateful.
Yet he is the kind of person
Neo-Christianity - the religion of #MAGA the world teaches us to HATE.

I will not HATE him.
If he has offended God, 
Then let God hate him.

My job?
My job is to love him.

I rest my case
Don Kenobi 

#Faith #Compassion #GoodSamaritan #OldManInTheMolue #dk #LoveYourNeighbor #MolueMonologues #GraceNotJudgment #HumanityFirst